Strong Enough
by EmpyrealDream
Summary: Post AC, Cloud x Tifa. Cloud is haunted by the past, and he needs Tifa's help in the battle against his own memories. Contains spoilers from the compilation, especially Crisis Core.


_So...here it is, my first fanfiction, the product of an overactive imagination while I want to take a break from writing my original fiction._

_Enjoy. _

_Oh, and by the way: I don't own anything._

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* * *

_Every night, it was the same dream—or nightmare, rather.

The outcome was always invariable, too. Tifa would wake from his incessant tossing and turning, and with wide eyes and a shaking hand, reach over to shove him roughly until he woke. He would open his eyes to find himself gripping her wrist tightly, digging his fingers painfully into her flesh.

In spite of this, she would still whisper softly, steadily, "Cloud, what is it?"

Usually, he would release her and sit up abruptly, shaking his head, partially to clear it and partially in disgust with himself. Swinging his legs over his side of the bed, he would stand up stiffly and stumble awkwardly from the room with a muttered, "I just need to be alone."

That night was…different.

When Tifa woke him, he found her standing over him on his side of the bed, wrapped in her plush red robe against the chill. The moonlight cast a halo around her, making her appear the ethereal angel she was. His mako-blue eyes came to meet hers for an instant before he diverted them. "We need to talk, Cloud. I'll meet you downstairs."

"Now?" He croaked out incredulously, staring at her retreating backside as she left the room. Talk? Of course, _he_ didn't want to _talk._ He'd just relived the most painful period of his life for the umpteenth time. For a moment, he debated. His life, these days, was comprised entirely of order; it was wonderfully predictable, and he _liked _it. This disturbed that sequence; dredging up the past would do nothing but harm to both of them.

With a sigh, he resolved that he owed it to her, somehow. Living with his demons, suffering through it himself, was one thing; costing her sleep and happiness, causing her apprehension, was something entirely different. Taking a deep breath, he stood and fortified himself for what he knew would be a long night.

Habitually, he looked in on Denzel and Marlene before cautiously navigating the stairs, avoiding the creaks and groans where possible. At the bottom of the stairs, he paused for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim light over the booth where Tifa sat, two steaming mugs on the table. She looked up at him and smiled, as if she wasn't the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, even in the middle of the night. He shuffled over and dropped ungracefully into the seat opposite her, his head hanging like an unruly child awaiting punishment.

"Cloud." Tifa spoke softly, as always when it came to delicate matters, and wrapped her hands around one of the cups of hot chocolate. "You haven't been sleeping well, and neither have I. I…I know I told you I would never force you to speak of…what we left behind." The phrase was familiar between them, neither wanting to speak specifically of the memories that plagued them. "When you started oversleeping, and I got complaints that your deliveries were late, or that you didn't show up for them at all…I began to worry."

He gave her a flat look, which was a small but rare show of emotion on his typically relaxed features. She went on, "Don't think it's the money. It's not. I just didn't know…how _bad_ it had gotten until those things happened. I can deal with being tired during the day, but look at you. You wake up late, rush around trying to make what deliveries you still can, and you come home to just…drag yourself around like the living dead. So I worry about you, Cloud, because I love you." She reached out to place a soft hand over his. "Tell me what's chasing you. Let me help you."

For a moment, he hesitated. This happened often, and Tifa was patient, allowing him to speak in his own time, now that she'd said what she needed to. Finally, he said softly, "Some things are better left unremembered." Tifa rested her head on her hand and looked at him, but said nothing. "I…I wish I had never remembered…everything."

Her brow furrowed. "You mean when you sorted out your memories from Zack's?"

Cloud nodded almost imperceptibly. "I never told anyone about what happened to us in Nibelheim…or to me when Zack died. Not in…detail, anyway."

Tifa only nodded slightly this time.

"That's what the dream is about."

He thought that was it, and looked at Tifa imploringly. For a moment—a very awkward moment for Cloud—neither said anything. After what felt like an eternity--for him--she finally said, "Maybe you _should_ talk about it in detail, Cloud."

If he was a little more expressive, his jaw might have dropped open at her brazenness. Instead, he simply said, "Tifa, it's not fit for conversation."

"It is tonight. I won't stand for a…a nightmare…your _memories…_hurting you like this. I can't. So talk about it. Horrify me." Her voice was ragged if still quiet, her eyes on her hand, still covering his.

_Horrify me._ She didn't know what she asked for, but she'd sure get it. Cloud closed his eyes, angry for reasons unknown to him, pinching the bridge of his nose between the thumb and forefinger of his free hand. "Fine. It's always the same. It always begins with those last moments inside the reactor in Nibelheim, after my encounter with Sephiroth.

"I'm torn from the darkness, brought to the light by a voice—Hojo's voice, which I would come to know far too well. 'This one here…intriguing! Most intriguing! He'll make a fine test subject,' he says. The memories are just flashes through my mind, mere snippets of the terrible things Hojo and his team of ambitious Shinra scientists did to me.

"The first thing I can remember is the scalpel cutting deeply into me, Hojo's gloved hand directing the instrument in a perfect "Y" pattern here." He paused to indicate with his finger on his chest. "I think I must still be in Nibelheim, because there's no way they'd do this to a living human being. It's…it's the sort of thing they do to dead people. Hell, I _wished_ I was dead." Cloud couldn't bring himself to meet Tifa's wide eyes, and he didn't risk looking at the way she held her mug midway to her mouth, as if it had been stopped from reaching her lips. He'd shaken her, he knew, appalled her already, just as she asked. In spite of his usual aloofness, once the words began to flow steadily there was nothing he could do to stop them.

"My flesh and bones are spread apart—a crack, a pop from somewhere—and I'd grit my teeth against the agony, if I could move. This is familiar to me, as if it happens often. There's a soft click, and Hojo's voice drones on and on about the weights of the various parts of my insides, about this enlargement, or that discoloration. Things are being moved around within me; I can feel it, hear the wetness of my innards being shoved aside like so many disposable things. 'Hojo must be recording again,' I think. He always tries to make himself sound more credible—less like a maniac—when he records, you know. 'No change to items 3, 8, 27, 30,' is all I can take in before I slip into blissful unconsciousness again.

"I waken to a burning in my veins—the injection of Jenova cells, I'd learn later. 'We'll see how this changes things in here,' Hojo says with a cackle, tapping on my sutured chest. Meanwhile, I lose focus of what Hojo tells his team of the serum. All I can think of is the excruciating burn, the fire, the thirst as I'm incinerated from within.

"And then there's the darkness again…the sweet, pure dark, where there is no pain." Cloud paused, glancing up at Tifa before looking down to his trembling hand. She'd gripped it tightly, leaving marks in his flesh, and guilt panged in his chest. She'd asked for it, but he couldn't blame her; she hadn't known how bad it would be for both of them.

_Too late now,_ he thought, and went on.

"The next thing I can remember isn't of that place. I'm still so exhausted, but my mind is clearing. I'm in a truck, and I wonder where I'm going, but I'm too tired to care, to tell you the truth; as long as it isn't back _there_. Someone is speaking to me, someone familiar even if the voice sounds distant. 'I'm just joking,' he says. I can barely open my eyes to see that it's Zack; at the time, I can't remember anything about him, can't even put the voice with his face because my memory is so muddled. He sounds happy, too, though, so I relax a little. 'You know I'd never do that to you. We're friends, right?' My eyes close again, and I nod off for a bit.

"Suddenly, I find I'm being unloaded from the truck's bed, half led and half carried to sit in the shelter of several rocks. The tires of the truck spin out, sending rocks flying wildly in all directions. I try so hard to form the words, 'What's going on?' My mouth is parched, though, and my tongue fat behind my chapped lips that won't move. Zack is quiet for a moment, and then reaches out his hand to ruffle my hair. It's an affectionate gesture, and I struggle to remember just who this person is; I should know someone who's that…close to me.

"My mind races, asking myself questions about who he is, how we know each other. Zack stands up, still for another minute while he looks down at me. 'He said we were friends…' is all I can think of."

Cloud was growing restless, agitated, so he stood to pace a small area between the booth and a few free standing tables. Running a hand through his hair, he took a deep breath. Tifa sat perfectly still, watching him, her drink growing cold between her hands.

"The soft crunch of the ground beneath his boots tells me that Zack has stepped away from me, that he's… leaving me behind. Suddenly, it dawns on me. He's Zack, my best friend, right? He's my best friend, my brother. Where is he going, then? I raise a hand to Zack's retreating figure, forming the words on my lips, though no voice escapes them. Instead, Zack goes on, walks away from me to meet the Shinra Army—likely every last infantryman at that—alone.

"Helplessly, I watch as helicopters circle the area like vultures. And the soldiers… What had we done, that Shinra would send so _many_? Zack stops before them, and his stance seems habitual—carefree, almost relaxed. He puts his hands on his hips, shaking his head. His words, then, would burn themselves into my memory, to remind me of what one man had to give up to save my life.

"'Boy oh boy…The price of freedom is steep,' he says to them.

I reach out again, a pleading gesture toward him. I wish I could scream, 'Come back…Don't do this…Run!' Something, besides letting Zack go to his death…for me.

"Zack has never run from a fight as long as I've known him; apparently, he isn't going to begin now. Instead, he takes the sword from his back, holding it straight up in front of him, the hilt clasped firmly in both hands as he leans his forehead against the blade. Zack speaks quietly to himself, and then cries out, 'Come and get it!'

"I know it's the end, as I watch Zack rush forward against impossible odds. I still can't remember anything that has passed between us, and bile rises in the back of my throat; I feel so guilty. I look on as the soldiers come at him, one after the other, Zack stopping them in their tracks as easily as if they are children.

"Even heroes wear out, though." Cloud shook his head. "After all, between dodging the helicopters' missiles, the soldiers' grenades, and the gunfire, even Zack can't go on forever. They've got him, so most of the remaining soldiers pack up, moving toward the trucks and choppers on the ridge. Only three are left with the duty of finishing Zack off. They approach him, guns at the ready..."

Cloud stopped, faltering with both the story of his dream and his pacing. He put his head in both hands, breathing deeply; for him, it was almost like reliving it, having the nightmare in waking hours, and it was grueling for him to go on. Tifa reached out her hand to touch him, and he brushed it aside.

She understood the implicit meaning behind his action; he had to do this unaided, like so many of his battles. The remorse, for him, was a greater monster than Sephiroth could ever be.

"I…I watch them." Cloud swallowed hard, took a labored breath. "I watch them corner him but I…I can't do anything. He's bloodied and beaten…and his sword is so heavy. He drags it—drags _himself_—to attack them. Zack just…can't do it alone. And they just keep _shooting_ him, riddling him with wounds until he…lays there, beyond any measure of healing. I see one of them walk right up to him and unload another clip in him…for good measure.

"All this time, I've been struggling to move part of me, any part, and got nothing…and now…I can move my entire body, ironically enough. Slowly, of course, and I'm weak from years inside 

that…tank Hojo kept me in. I drag myself through the mud and blood to Zack. I sit up on my knees and look down at him. I…I don't know what to say, so I try his name. 'Z-Zack…' I try tentatively, as if I've forgotten how to speak.

"He looks up at me, and, recognizing me, he says, 'For the…both of us.'" Tifa's brow furrowed at that, though she kept silent. "I don't know what he means either, so I ask him, 'Both...of us?'

"Zack is weak, and fading fast; I can hear it in his voice when he says, 'That's right…you're gonna…'

"He can hardly breathe, but I have to know, Tifa…I have to know what he wants me to do. I repeat his words, hoping to prompt him, 'You're gonna…'

"Zack reaches up, catching me at the back of my head, and pulls me down to his chest. He says, 'Live…You'll be…my living legacy.'

"When he releases me, I sit up, his blood smeared in my hair and down the side of my face. I look at him, unsure of what to say, what to do. He smiles a bit, and then takes the hilt of the Buster Sword, dragging it over to me. 'My honor, my dreams,' he says, 'they're yours now.'

"Zack offers me the sword, and for an instant, I'm unsure if I can live up to the task, and I reach out tentatively. I know that I have to do this for him, even if I don't remember what happened before, because he died for me. The least I can do…is live for him, make it worth his sacrifice. Wholeheartedly, I take the hilt of the sword in both hands, and pull it toward me. 'I'm your…living legacy,' I confirm, an oath now.

"He just…smiles a little, and closes his eyes. He's…Zack is…" Cloud couldn't finish what he meant to say, wouldn't confess to the anguish and the responsibility he felt for Zack's death. "That's…that's it." Unsure of what to do then, Cloud turned and headed for the stairs.

Tifa was abruptly in front of him, both hands on his chest, startling him with her quickness. "Cloud…thank you." He narrowed his eyes in confusion at her. "That's the first time…you've put so many words together at once. And I'm glad you did. I understand so much more now. Thank you."

She threw her arms around his neck and held him tightly. At first, he was bewildered, and did nothing. He opened the window to some of the most revolting moments of his past, and she _embraced_ him for it afterward? Zack had made sure he could live to love this incredible woman, who was warm, intelligent, funny, and beautiful of course, but most importantly, shewas _capable_ of loving _him. _With all his faults, and for all the deplorable things that had happened to him, Tifa loved him because she was strong and resilient enough to. He put his arms around her and held tightly, burying his face in her hair, against her neck.

Later on in the morning, the kids went to school, and Tifa went upstairs to nap for a while, before the bar opened. Cloud lingered downstairs, toying with the remains of his breakfast for a while before tackling the various chores in the bar. With that done, he crept up the stairs and down the corridor, past the bedroom, to his office. He rifled through the bottom drawer of his desk, toward the back, and removed a small black box. Opening it, he took the ring—a tiny silver band with a simple round diamond on it—from inside. Carelessly, in his sudden apprehension, he left the box on the desk and the drawer open before going back to their bedroom.

Quietly, Cloud opened the door to find Tifa sleeping deeply, exhausted from the strange hours they'd been keeping of late. She lay on her left side, her right arm relaxed over her middle while her left hand curled gently in front of her face.

Truthfully, he hadn't known what he was going to say, so maybe this was best. Stretching out on the bed beside her, he fit himself to her backside, draping an arm over hers and holding her tight.

_What if she says no? _He thought. A small crease formed between his eyebrows. _So much for beating Sephiroth…twice. That was nothing in comparison to this._

After a few more minutes of deliberation, the solution dawned on him. _What if I don't ask her at all? What if I just _gave_ her the ring?_ Now was just as good a time as any, while she was asleep. He wouldn't have to be bothered about the awkwardness of the question itself—or looking her in the eye, which he still had trouble with at times.

In a moment of exceptional courage, he reached over, and slid the ring deftly onto her left ring finger. It fit rather easily—too easily, and he worried it might be a little too big. She hadn't woken up, however, and when enough time had passed that he thought she might stay asleep, he released a sigh of relief.

Cloud started when her voice broke the silence. "Yes, Cloud. The answer is yes. And it's not too big either. Stop worrying." Tifa smiled softly, her eyes still closed, while she patted his hand gently. "It's always been yes, after all."


End file.
